Knowing Where to Look
by la baguette
Summary: Who is Gawain Robards? JKR gave no information about him beyond his name & profession. The story of a man who had lost hope in the world, humanity, & himself, and his unexpected means of finding it again with some subtle help from the BWL. Post DH cannon.
1. A Long Day at Work

**Summary:** "'If you were seen popping in and out of the Ministry from time to time, for instance, that would give the right impression,' said Scrimgeour. 'And of course, while you were there, you would have ample opportunity to speak to Gawain Robards, my successor as Head of the Auror office. Dolores Umbridge has told me that you cherish an ambition to become an Auror. Well, that could be arranged very easily….'"

Who is Gawain Robards? Rowling has offered no information about him beyond his name and profession. Here is documented his rite of passage. This is the story of a man who had lost hope in the world, in humanity, in himself, and his unexpected means of finding it again with some subtle, almost undetectable, help from the Boy Who Lived. Picks up the night following the Battle for Hogwarts in the Deathly Hallows, tracking Harry's unusual assimilation into the Auror ranks.

**A note to the reader:** I am not, nor have I ever been, a fan fiction writer or reader before this moment. I am not well acquainted with the intricate workings of the fan fiction realm. In fact, I must admit myself woefully ignorant of the entire process, and as I just now attempted to familiarize myself a bit with the area by looking at others' works, I must confess, I usually had to stare at the abbreviations and acronyms people use for about ten minutes before finally figuring out what they meant. To be honest, the entire idea of taking a perfect book and butchering the characterizations and plotlines always rather offended me. As such, I intentionally told this tale from the point of view of a character Rowling has told us next to nothing about in the hope that I can minimize any transgressions from the "truth" that is the Harry Potter series. This story was the result of insomnia, as I booted up my computer at three in the morning with the idea that if I couldn't sleep, I might as well commence compiling a much needed CV. My fingers, however, had a different idea, and this is what came out. I hope that someone can find some entertainment in it. Please feel free to drop me a line and tell me what you think or to correct any lapse in loyalty to the original books you may find.

**Chapter 1: A Long Day at Work**

Gawain attempted and failed to suppress a sigh as the grill closed and the lift began its descent. His eyes itched with an inexplicable tiredness. In truth, he had not been here much longer than he would have on any normal day of work, but he had found today dreadfully taxing; his exhaustion was only exacerbated by the knowledge that the day's chores were far from over. Not for the first time he asked himself why exactly he had ever chosen to go into this profession. But things had been different then…_He_ had been different then.

The man standing next to him was a testament to that. He studied the figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt out of the corner of his eye, thinking back to how threatened he had felt when Kingsley had first started working in the Auror office. His arrival had triggered a bitter, although admittedly one-sided, rivalry with Gawain. Kingsley had never intentionally challenged Gawain's authority when he had joined the ranks of Aurors, but somehow Gawain had felt terribly pressured by the younger man's obvious potential. It seemed he had had reason, Gawain thought dryly to himself. The difference between now and then, however, was that Gawain found he really didn't care anymore.

He jerked back to the present when the lift shuddered to a halt, and a cool female voice announced that they were at the Atrium. Gawain followed Kingsley and the others across the emptying room toward the apparition zone, enviously watching the last few workers heading home to their families through the newly reopened floo networking. They would be celebrating tonight, drinking once again to the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One. Gawain and the others in the group heading across the Atrium were not so lucky.

As they passed it, he saw Kingsley glance at the vulgar monument that proclaimed "Magic is Might;" he made a disgusted sound and muttered to himself "first order of business tomorrow: that monstrosity goes." The group walked purposefully across the cavernous room, past the security desk and the now unused toilet stalls through which only that morning, Gawain had arrived at work.

Gawain's thoughts again began to wander, marveling at how quickly everything had happened. He had arrived at work this morning, flushing himself down that cursed toilet at eight o'clock as usual, not imagining that anything had changed. He had headed up the lifts to the 2nd floor as on any other day, turned the corner, and trudged through the heavy oak doors and into the Auror office. He walked between the rows of desks yawning and wondering vaguely where Williamson and Martins had been called off to as they didn't appear to be here. He veered off into his cubicle, only to find Kingsley Shacklebolt calmly lounging at his desk waiting for him. _Lounging _in the _Auror_ office! As if he wasn't right below the Potter boy on the list of most wanted men!

Kingsley had not bothered with any salutation, simply greeting Gawain by informing him in his usual slow serene voice that he had taken the liberty of sending the two Aurors who had been on night duty to Hogwarts of all places, where he thought they would be more useful. Not waiting for more than a splutter in response, he proceeded to explain that there had been an epic battle at the wizarding school in the early hours of the morning and that Voldemort (Gawain had flinched) had been killed in a duel by Harry Potter. Gawain's head was still buzzing, to say the least.

The rest of the day had passed in a whirl of confused commotion. Gawain had stumbled through the day in a kind of trance, dazed with the impossibility of it all; he could barely remember all that had happened. Nine hours had passed. Nine hours of endless debates, planning the next course of action and all the while struggling through the confines of the crumbling bureaucracy.

The Wizengamot had been called to order and it had been quickly (well, quickly by bureaucratic standards) determined that a temporary minister would have to be assigned to take charge until public elections could be arranged. After hours of tedious deliberation, it was finally determined that Kingsley Shacklebolt was the ideal candidate. His temperament was such that he would not act rashly or in only his own interests, his history showed his commitment to the side of light, and his former standing in the Auror ranks and with the Order of the Phoenix would be met with enthusiasm on the part of the terrified wizarding community.

Despite expressing reluctance during the discussion, Kingsley took up the mantle graciously and proved decisive and capable. At last, things began to get done. Immediately a group of officials were dispatched to Azkaban to release the many Muggle-borns who had been imprisoned. Another delegation was sent to Hogwarts on various errands, be it to take those captured Death Eaters in to custody, tend to the injured, or begin repair works on the castle.

Kingsley was, however, cautious; Gawain supposed he would have to be, after twenty-some years in the Order of the Phoenix. It did not escape Kingsley's notice that those who were still present in the ministry had kept their positions by either openly supporting the Death Eaters, or at the very least, remaining impartial. Gawain and the others present had shifted uncomfortably when this had been pointed out. Gawain did feel guilty; it was, after all, his responsibility as an Auror to fight dark wizards, but after what had happened in the first war…well, he didn't think he could bear to go through that again. The days were long gone when he would seek to stand up against tyranny. He just went along with it now, kept his head down, and did his job as he was instructed.

And so Kingsley was hesitant to discuss certain security matters in the confines of the ministry. It was too difficult to know who to trust or to be sure that their conversations we not being overheard by the wrong ears. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may be dead, but the war was not over yet. Many of his followers were still at large, and they were by no means out of danger. No one would forget the lessons learned after the first war in a hurry. Picking a few select officials in positions of authority whom he deemed trustworthy along with a couple Aurors as a precaution, Kingsley was resolved that they conference in a less vulnerable setting.

And it was this decision which had brought them here to the apparition zone. Kingsley looked around at each of them. After verifying that everyone who should be was present, he held out his left arm, encouraging them all to take hold. Kingsley had flatly refused to say precisely where they were going in case of any eavesdroppers. Instead he had insisted upon guiding the apparition to what he had dubbed "the secure location." None of the others present had any idea where they were headed. Kingsley had merely assured them that the place was the safest and most private he knew of and that it was equipped with every security spell known to wizard-kind. "Perfect for any clandestine operation."

Margaret Jenkyns grumbled something too low to hear and adjusted her eye patch. Margaret was a good spirited and lively woman normally, but she truly hated not being in the know. She rolled her good eye with an audible "hrumph," but she crowded around Kingsley and laid a hand on his shoulder along with everyone else. Gawain followed suit, taking a firm hold on Kingsley's forearm.

"Wands out, and remember what I said," muttered Kingsley quietly. "This place is not unknown to the Death Eaters; it is quite possible they will be waiting for us. We should be fine once we get into the house. Assuming there have been no changes in the security measures in the past year, they will not be able to follow." He gave one final check to be sure that all six of his companions had one hand on Kingsley's arm or shoulder and the other gripping a wand at the ready. "On three then: one…two…three!" And simultaneously, they turned on their heels and disappeared with a pop.


	2. First Impressions

**Chapter 2: First Impressions**

They had materialized in a small patch of unkempt grass, bumping into each other as they regained their footing from the Apparition. Gawain and the others looked around, taking in the site of the dilapidated houses with their boarded up windows and peeling paint. Rubbish heaps lay on the yellowing lawns of several of the surrounding houses. The street was lined with lamps, but none of them were lit. Odd, that. A tangible silence was filling the square eerily, the only noise being their own soft breathing. Tendrils of fog were creeping up the street. Gawain felt a shiver run down his spine. He let his breath out in a cloud of mist; it was strangely cold for a spring evening. Very cold. And dark.

All at once, Gawain and several of his companions realized the meaning of this and whipped around to face down the street, wands at the ready. Sure enough, a throng of dementors were gliding down the street toward them. There were hundreds of them, too many to fight, and they were so close. They must have been waiting in ambush. Gawain's fogged brain registered this vaguely, but the mist was already swirling through his head, bringing with it an image.

_He saw a neat cottage in the moonlight, surrounded by a white picket fence and with ivy growing up the walls and yellow roses in the garden. But something was not right. The front door was hanging off its hinges, a window broken, just visible by the glittering light of a vast green skull etched against the black sky above the house. The Dark Mark. Oh, God. Katherine._

But the cold was receding. Some semblance of warmth was reentering Gawain's body, evaporating the mist that clouded his vision. Shaking his head to clear it, Gawain looked around trying to decipher what was happening. His deep gasping breaths were resonating loudly in his ears, but all other sounds seemed muffled. In a daze, he analyzed the state of his colleagues, feeling detached from the goings-on.

His eyes first fell on young Ben Harrows lying unconscious on the street two yards away. Guy Burgess was on his knees, cowering and shacking, stubby arms wrapped around his considerable girth. The poor man. Gawain doubted he had ever been out from behind a desk in all his life; dementors would hardly have been in his job description. Edward Bones and Brannagh Roslyn were still on their feet, but both were struggling to maintain the clouds of vapor protecting them from the dementors. Kingsley and Margaret Jenkyns were standing with their backs to him and their wands raised as though conducting a symphony. Their respective Patronuses, a lynx and snow leopard, were still there, charging down the dementors. But they were not alone.

Abruptly, Gawain realized what had allowed the fog from his brain to clear. The dementors were retreating down the street, and pursuing them was another corporeal Patronus, shining more brightly that either of the others. Gawain squinted against the light, trying to make it out. From the gait, he thought it might be a horse. No, he saw antlers. A stag, he decided as his eyes adjusted to its luminosity.

He turned to look behind him for the person who had conjured the Patronus, eyes raking the shadows. Finally, he caught sight of a tall figure wrapped in a worn black cloak. The hood was up, casting the face in too much shadow to make out.

As Gawain looked at him, the figure lowered a wand and pocketed it, the silvery light from his Patronus diminishing simultaneously. The man strode purposefully toward Ben who was still lying unconscious on the pavement. He reached down, grabbed a hold of his arm, and prepared to hoist Ben up onto his shoulders.

Gawain started at this, drawing his wand to hex the man, whoever he was, but halted when he felt a hand on his wand arm. Kingsley had walked up beside him and was pulling Gawain's wrist down gently. He shook his head slightly at Gawain, who gave him a questioning look.

"Not here," Kingsley responded quietly.

Gawain turned his head back just in time to see the cloaked figure march up a short path halfway between two houses labeled as numbers eleven and thirteen, now with Ben securely over his shoulder. The path did not appear to lead anywhere. Just as Gawain was wondering where on earth the man was going and, more importantly, where he was taking Ben, he disappeared.

Gawain, Margaret Jenkyns, and Edward Bones, all of whom were watching this, turned shocked eyes to Kingsley. The minister seemed supremely unconcerned, however, and merely directed his attentions to Burgess who was still sitting on the ground looking dazed, Roslyn bending over him.

"Can you hear me, Guy?" Kingsley asked in his slow soothing voice, crouched down in front of the trembling man.

Burgess turned vacant eyes onto Kingsley. He at least managed a nod, even if he did appear to be fighting not to retch all over the Minister's shoes.

"Good, good. Let's get you inside the house then, shall we?" Kingsley said straightening up. "Gawain, if you'll give me a hand?"

Together they managed to hoist Burgess to his feet. Gawain supported the man's weight as Kingsley turned, leading the way over to the path where the cloaked stranger had disappeared moments before.

By this point, Margaret's patience was wearing thin. "I say, Kingsley! Do you mind telling us where the bloody hell we're going? Where has that bloke taken Harrows?"

Kingsley turned back to them, looking faintly surprised, his eyebrows raised. "Eh? Ah, of course." He glanced around the square and motioned all five of his companions closer. Then, in a low voice, he murmured "the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London."

Immediately upon hearing these words, a house inflated before them, showing the same grimy windows and filthy walls as the neighboring houses it pushed out of its way. The Fideilius Charm, Gawain acknowledged. He wondered vaguely, just how high in the Order of the Phoenix Kingsley must have been to be Secret-Keeper for the headquarters.

He did not dwell on this thought long, however, as the party was moving quickly up the path again. Gawain dug his elbow into Burgess's side in an attempt to wake him up a bit, before dragging him along. Gawain realized the door to the house was being held open by the cloaked figure he had seen before, Ben still over his shoulders. As Kingsley passed him, leading the group into the house they nodded to each other.

Gawain followed the others as they filed through the door, and his eyes met with the strangers'. The contact lasted no more than a second before the stranger turned away, but Gawain felt himself unspeakably unnerved by something he could not explain. He had no idea why, but the man gave him the creeps. _For pity's sake, pull it together, man,_ Gawain berated himself. _He's just another member of the Order of the Phoenix, here to check in at headquarters. And a very good thing he did, too, or we would probably all have been Kissed by now. _

The foyer was pitch-black. He could only just make out Kingsley escorting them down a narrow hall. As he headed down the passage after him, Gawain glanced uncomfortably over his shoulder toward the stranger who had now closed the door and was in the processes of securing several locks and adding a few additional protective charms.

When he turned back, Gawain found the others had disappeared through a double-hinged door at the end of the corridor. He pushed it open with his shoulder, still dragging Burgess along, and found himself in a large well-lit kitchen. A cursory glance showed the place more than a little neglected, but he paid very little attention, as he was in the process of trying to balance Burgess's considerable weight on one of the wooden chairs at a long scrubbed table.

He was just straightening up, arms still outstretched in case Burgess decided to topple off the chair in one direction or the other, when the cloaked man entered. He moved across the room with a purposeful confidence and deposited Ben in one of the chairs unceremoniously. Ben groaned, a hand raking through his short blond hair before he put his forehead down on the table top with his eyes shut tight.

His hands freed, the stranger reached up to remove his hood, reporting in a voice mimicking a Muggle newscaster, "the public was shocked this evening, at the announcement that Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt served the all time shortest term in office, having forfeited his soul in an act of sheer stupidity a mere six hours after being sworn in."

Gawain gaped unabashedly. The face which had been revealed was one he had seen a million times in print yet never in real life. In fact, for the past eight months, a poster with his face and the words "Undesirable No. 1" emblazoned across his chest had blinked down on him from the wall beside his cubicle. But Harry Potter had changed since the last photograph Gawain had seen. His black hair curled to his shoulders in mussed tendrils clumped by blood and dirt and sweat. He had a cut over one eye and judging from the blood smears on his hands, face, and clothing, Gawain expected there were others concealed. A shadow of a beard spread across his chin and cheeks and he had dark rings under his eyes.

The boy looked old. Too old to be just seventeen. And yet, now that he saw him, Gawain couldn't help but marvel at how young he was. His mind couldn't make sense of it. The boy was just that, a boy. His skin was smooth with youth, but his eyes looked as though they belonged to a hundred-and-eighty-year-old. And how could he possibly have done all the things people had said he had done? He was just a child!

Gawain realized Kingsley had been replying, a faint smile on his face. "What is it that makes it stupid when I do it but not when you do exactly the same thing?"

"Oh, it's stupid when I do it," Potter reassured him, "but the difference is, with me, the public isn't shocked. They fully expect me to act stupidly." He shrugged to accentuate this point. After a moment, his determinedly sober face slipped, and a small crooked grin turned up one corner of his mouth. He had a dimple on one side that was inescapably endearing. Watching him joking and laughing in the brightly lit kitchen and with the traveling cloak cast aside, Gawain couldn't help but wonder how he could have possibly thought the boy threatening a mere two minutes previously.

"Oh, I see," Kingsley said laughing.

The two were teasing each other as if they were the oldest and dearest of friends. As if they had known each other for years. Gawain had worked with Kingsley for some twenty years, and all at once, Gawain was realizing that he really didn't know the man at all. How on earth could the fact that he was friends with Harry Potter never have come up in conversation?

The boy's smile turned somber and he rested his back against the doorframe. "It's wonderful to see you, Kingsley," he said sincerely.

"And you," replied Kingsley. "…Alive," he added, raising his eyebrows and smiling slightly.

Potter snorted at this. "Miracles do happen."

"Apparently. You were dead. I _saw_ you!"

Potter sighed tiredly. "Oh, for goodness sake, I wasn't dead, and I'm getting very tired of explaining this, so can we just skip that part for tonight?"

"I suppose. But I'm gonna need to hear it eventually, you know," Kingsley responded evenly.

"I don't doubt that, _Minister_," said Potter, his voice positively dripping with sarcasm. Gawain had a pretty good idea of exactly how Potter had managed to drive both Fudge and Scrimgeour up the wall. But Kingsley just smiled affectionately again.

"Not hurt, are you?" Kingsley asked, eyeing a particularly noticeable blood stain on Potter's hand with concern.

Potter followed his eyes. "Oh," he said, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as though trying to remember where it had come from. He scrubbed at it with his other hand and a bit of the dried blood flaked off. "No, I don't think it's mine…"

"You 'don't think…'" Kingsley repeated wryly.

Potter clearly wished to change the subject. He didn't seem to like talking about himself. "So what are you doing here, anyway?" asked Potter, his eyes scanning the other ministry members present, all of whom were listening to the conversation with apparent fascination. Even Ben had picked his head off the table and was gazing bemusedly at Potter.

"We just needed a place to go over some security matters where we wouldn't be overheard by the wrong people. I didn't feel comfortable discussing it in the Ministry. This was the most secure location I could think of. I'm rather surprised to see you here. I would have thought you'd have stayed at Hogwarts, or gone back to the Burrow with the Weasleys."

Potter grimaced at this. "Too many people at Hogwarts. And as for the Weasleys…" he sighed, "they need some family time."

Kingsley sighed. "You are a part of that family, Harry. Everyone sees it but you. I'm sure they would want you there." Potter pulled his lower jaw forward, clamping his teeth together, and when he didn't respond, Kingsley continued. "You know it wasn't your fault. What happened to Fred?" Gawain had no idea what they were talking about, but Potter reacted immediately, jerking away from the wall and standing up straight.

"Listen, the house isn't as secure as it once was," he said in a business-like manner, blatantly changing the subject again. "You shouldn't get complacent; Yaxley could get in, at least. He was captured at Hogwarts, so I shouldn't worry about him, but I really don't know how much weaker the wards have gotten recently. I've put up some protective spells for tonight, but if you intend on using the place much, we might do well to renew the Fideilius Charm."

"I'll bear that in mind," said Kingsley gravely. "How did Yaxley get in?"

Potter sighed again. "It's a long story… Look I haven't slept in like three days, so is it going to be problematic if I kip upstairs?"

Kingsley shrugged. "It's your house." Several of his companions glanced over at him. _That _might _have been something we would have liked to know beforehand_, thought Gawain dryly.

"Oh, yeah…right…" muttered Potter glancing around, his mind clearly somewhere else. "Really did a number on it, didn't they?"

For the first time, Gawain took in the room and realized the obvious signs that the house had been searched and ransacked. Chairs were lying on their sides, one with a leg broken off, the contents of the cupboards had been strewn about the floor, and the door of the pantry was hanging crookedly on one hinge.

Potter shook his head and turned to leave the room, saying over his shoulder, "I'll be in Sirius's room if you need me." He glanced over at Kingsley with mock pleading eyes. "Please, _please_ don't need me."

Kingsley smiled. "Get some rest" he said fondly.

"Will do. Good luck saving the world, or whatever other important business you have on the agenda for tonight…_sir_," said Potter, again with his crooked grin. He reached the door through which they had come, pulled it open, and paused, glancing back at them. His eyes rested first on Ben and then traveled over to Burgess. "There might be some chocolate in the pantry."

"Thanks, looks like that may be called for," said Kingsley. Potter nodded and turned to leave. "Oh and Harry?" Kingsley called after him. Potter paused again, turning his head only partially back. "Thank you. For…you know…"

Potter looked slightly uncomfortable at this. "Yeah, well, next time, don't be an idiot; Apparate directly onto the top step." With that, he turned and disappeared into the dark hall.

Gawain and his companions were still staring after him, openly gaping.

"Oh for the love of God, would you all stop standing around with your mouths open?" said Kingsley in an uncharacteristically curt voice. "We have work to do."

It was going to be a very long night.


	3. The Importance of Coffee

**Chapter 3: The Importance of Coffee**

**  
**Gawain had been right. Merlin, if there were ever a time he wished he'd been wrong, it was now. It had been a _very_ long night. Outside, the sun would be newly risen, the birds would be singing, the new spring flowers opening, the Muggle paper boy riding a bicycle down the road. Not that Gawain and the others could see that, of course. Gawain was beginning to feel claustrophobic in the underground windowless kitchen, never mind that the room was far from small.

They had spent the entire night going over and over the same blasted things. Security measures in the ministry, in Hogwarts, who to trust and with how much. Merlin, it was enough to make any man wish he were being fed to a hoard of starving chimeras.

Gawain glanced at his watch and groaned. _7:00 AM._ _Mary is going to kill me._ He had owled his wife the night before, of course, telling her what had happened and that he would be working late, but he was well aware that would not stop the inevitable row. He could already hear her voice as she repeated all the same circular arguments she always used. Come to think of it, it wasn't so very different from how he had spent his evening here.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Gawain pinched the bridge of his nose between middle finger and thumb, letting out a long breath. Sliding his hands back, feeling the prickles of his unshaven face, he massaged his temples where the hair was graying, eyes still shut tight, willing away the rising headache.

Letting out another sigh, Gawain straightened up and reached for the coffee pot to top off his mug, craning his neck to crack it as he did so. It must have been the tenth cup he had choked down over the course of the night. _Of course, it _had_ to be stale,_ he thought bitterly_. Honestly, if Kingsley is going to keep us here all night, the _least_ he could do is supply us with some decent coffee._ Still, caffeine was caffeine.

Kingsley had pulled the bag of coffee beans out of the pantry the night before with a dusty chocolate bar which he had broken up, making sure Ben had the largest piece. Poor Ben. The boy was the youngest in the Auror ranks. He was a promising talent: fast reflexes, quick with a wand, and moralistic. The kind of bloke you really wanted watching your back in a fight. But bring a couple of dementors into the mix, and he was flat on the ground within two seconds. It wasn't his fault, of course, but there was no convincing him of that. Ben was still young and proud; he was intolerably embarrassed by what he considered a great weakness.

Gawain didn't know what memories the dementors called forth to bring about such an intense reaction. He supposed it had something to do with the boy's parents. He knew Ben was orphaned at a young age, but any time the topic had been breached, Ben had quickly changed the subject. Gawain had never pursued it.

"And I'm telling you, Christophe Xavier will never go along with that!" Burgess was gesticulating fiercely in an attempt to assert a point that no one was disagreeing with. On the contrary, most of the company were no longer even listening, preferring to stare into space with their heads in their hands, or, in the case of Ben, sleep shamelessly on the table. Gawain wondered vaguely why Burgess always spoke as though it were his imperative to convince the world that the sky is yellow.

"Guy. You are the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation." Kingsley sighed, running a hand across his bald pate. "Convince him. Whatever you might say about Xavier, he does want what's best for France—"

He broke off as the door to the kitchen swung open. Gawain, Ben, Margaret, and Edward Bones all jerked upright and raised their wands, surprised that anyone could have made it all the way down the hall without being heard.

"Merlin, are you lot still here? You poor sods." Potter strolled into the room, barely sparing a glance for the four wands pointed directly at his chest. Gawain lowered his hand slowly. The others followed suit, though Margaret still looked wary and was sure to position herself where she could easily protect Kingsley.

Potter had freshened up since the night before. He was clean shaven and his hair was still dripping from the shower. The blood and grime had been scrubbed off his skin, though that merely served to draw attention to the fact that some of what Gawain had previously assumed to be dirt, were in fact bruises. His clothes were still rather sullied and travel-worn, but they were at least free of blood stains. The dark bags under his eyes seemed at least a little lessened, though he still looked far from rested.

"Solved all the world's problems yet?" Potter asked matter-of-factly.

"Not quite, but we're getting there," Kingsley yawned, stretching his arms over his head.

"Well, best get a move on—Dear God, is that coffee?" he interrupted himself.

"It's stale. Merlin knows how long it's been sitting in the pantry," replied Kingsley, pouring Potter a cup and passing it to him.

"I really couldn't care less," said Potter. He wrapped both hands around the cup and closed his eyes, savoring the warmth and inhaling the scent deeply. He took a sip and let out a sigh. "Oh my friend, how I have missed you."

"Would it be optimistic of me to choose to assume you were addressing me and not the beverage?" said Kingsley dryly.

"Yes, it would. You're quite a bit lower down on the List, I'm afraid," Potter responded with a grin.

"The List?"

"Yes, the List. Of all the things I've missed most while on the run. It goes something along the lines of 'food,' 'a proper bed,' 'coffee,' and just generally 'not dying.' He accented the items of his list, showing with his hand the relative importance of each like the rungs of a ladder, each lower than the one before.

Kingsley laughed. The others let out chuckles or snorts, all hastily stifled as though no one was quite sure whether they were meant to be privy to this conversation. This seemed to remind Kingsley of his manners. "I suppose I should introduce you, shouldn't I?" Potter did not reply, merely raised an eyebrow with a small secretive smile on his lips.

Kingsley started on his left, working his way around the table. "This is Margaret Jenkyns and Ben Harrows, both Aurors. Brannagh Roslyn, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Guy Burgess, Department of International Magical Cooperation. Edward Bones, head of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. And Gawain Robards, head of the Auror Office."

Potter nodded his head at each person in turn. His eyes lingered ever-so-slightly longer on Bones, a faint look of curiosity on his face as he sized him up. When Kingsley reached Gawain's name, Potter did the smallest of double takes, a slight crease appearing between his eyes. Gawain immediately began racking his memory for something in Gawain's reputation that could have caused this reaction, before reminding himself he didn't care what a seventeen year old kid thought about him.

Potter glanced at Kingsley with an unreadable expression on his face. Well, unreadable for Gawain, but Kingsley must have made some sense out of it because he said, "I will vouch that everyone in this room is trustworthy."

"I trust your judgment," Potter replied. "Or at any rate, I trust that you know that if any of them kill me, it's on your head," he added with a smile. Gawain could hardly believe the ability of this child to joke about being murdered. He spoke as lightly as if discussing what robes to wear the next day. _What kind of life had this kid led?_

"There any food in the house?" Potter asked.

"The pantry looked pretty bare."

Potter sighed. "Well, that figures. I'll pick up some groceries while I'm out today."

"Where are you headed?" Kingsley asked, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

Potter frowned, studying Kingsley. "Are you asking as a friend or as the Minister of Magic?"

"Does that make a difference?"

"I dunno. Past Ministers have a history of trying to keep tabs on me. I guess I just like knowing whether your interest is due to a concern for my wellbeing or a concern for your approval ratings."

"I'm sorry I asked," replied Kingsley wryly, turning back to his coffee and looking affronted.

Potter studied him for a moment before saying, "I have a few people to see. The Weasleys, Andromeda Tonks, the Creeveys…"

Kingsley's face was somber. "Are you planning on visiting all of the bereaved families?" When Potter did not answer, he continued. "That's not your responsibility. None of this was your fault. _You can't fix everything_."

Potter was examining his hands, clearly avoiding Kingsley's eye. "None of it was supposed to happen this way. It wasn't the plan; I was supposed to get in and out without anyone being the wiser. No one was supposed to get hurt. They died for me. The least I can do is check in on their loved ones and see how they're holding up."

"Harry—"

"I should get going." Potter took the cloak he had been wearing the night before off a hook on the wall and slung it around his shoulders agitatedly. "I meant what I said before, Kingsley. No trying to keep tabs on me or having me followed, not even for my own good, you hear?"

"Would I do that?"

"Well, given that I was stalked by Order members for half of my childhood…yeah, I think you might," Potter responded sarcastically, heading for the door. Kingsley shrugged, conceding the point. Potter reached the door and paused. "Kingsley, let these people go home and breakfast with their families, get a little rest. Yourself included. You can't have slept more than a few hours in the past two days." And with that, he once again disappeared down the hall.

Kingsley sighed, looking entirely unsatisfied with the way the conversation went. He ran his hands across his face before looking up and realizing all of his companions were watching him, each clearly waiting for a response to Potter's parting words.

He sighed again, grumbling under his breath. "Alright, go on home, but I expect all of you back here by one o'clock understood? And remember to Apparate directly onto the stoop."

There was a flurry of movement as everyone stood, gathering papers and quills. They all looked pleased at the prospect of heading home, but Gawain felt a leaden weight in his gut. He thought he might prefer sitting here listening to Burgess enumerating French foreign policy rather than going home to the unavoidable argument with his wife.

He followed the others out of the kitchen, listening to them chatting contentedly, spirits seeming immeasurably improved at the prospect of breakfast and their own beds. Ben was openly smiling and Gawain heard him remark, "You know, I think I'm going to really like this kid."

~ * * * ~

**  
A note to the reader: **I don't usually care for it when authors throw a whole bunch of ANs in everywhere, but _AP Mom_ has raised an excellent question which I think is well worth explaining where others can see it. Usually, for every one person who asks a question, you can bet that 20 others are wondering the same thing. This will take some time to explain, so you are in no way obligated to read this.

The question concerns Kingsley's willingness to trust such a large group of people who all worked in the Death-Eater-run Ministry. This is a very complex question and the answer is different for each character. Some of them, most notably Guy Burgess, are present for political reasons. Kingsley is, for all intents and purposes, the Minister of Magic, however, he was appointed to the post by Ministry officials, not elected by the public. As such, at least until he is officially elected, he needs to tread very carefully so as to avoid offending anyone. He can't do everything on his own, but neither can he go around appointing friends or Order members to positions of power, even if they would do a better job. As for some of the others, such as Gawain, Margaret and Ben, Kingsley worked with them for several years, and he knows and trusts them intimately.

I will add that I do know my characters. Each has a very unique personality and a back-story which combine to explain a.) why they stayed at the Ministry after it fell to the Death Eaters, and b.) why Kingsley continues to trust them. For some of them, particularly Gawain, I don't want to say too much, as it may come up in some importance in the future plot. Others, I may never find a satisfactory way to weave into the story. I am in firm opposition to giving or receiving spoilers for anything, so I will say no more here, but if you remind me as it comes up, I'd be more than happy to fill you in, on anything I did not satisfactorily explain in the story.

Wow! That was a kinda long explanation, I apologize. I do hope, in time, you'll get a better idea of who all these random people are. If you're feeling a little lost right now, that's fine; that's how I intended it. Well, I hope you're lost for the reasons I intended and not for those I didn't…There are so many facts crammed into my head, I forget while I'm writing that the reader doesn't already know them all.

I'm going to be shameless now and beg you all to review. I have gotten sooo many hits from all over the world, I am quite overwhelmed, and yet so few of you have reviewed. That is not to say I'm not grateful to those of you who did, because I am! I'd just really love to hear what all you others are thinking too, even if it's not very complimentary.

Cheers!

Baguette


	4. Incessant Thinking

**Chapter 4: Incessant Thinking**

**  
**Gawain rolled over uncomfortably, attempting to find a position that would allow him a few minutes of much needed sleep. But no matter how soft the mattress, how fluffy the pillows, how warm the blankets, he was well aware it was a hopeless endeavor. His brain just wouldn't switch off. Against his will, his mind kept mulling over all the things that were happening; the more he tried to tell himself not to think, the more he found himself thinking. He was restless. He wanted to get up and pace around the room, but he forced himself to lie still.

Kingsley had allotted them five hours to freshen up before he expected them back in that cursed kitchen. Five hours to eat, see their families, get some sleep, and how was Gawain spending it? Lying on the bed staring at the back of his eyelids, yelling at his wife while his daughter sat at the breakfast table pretending not to notice.

The arguments were so common these days, Gawain hardly need listen to what they were about. They really didn't make any sense to begin with. The more Mary wanted him home, spending time with the family, the more she would yell at him, and the more she would yell, the more he would want to stay away. He found himself procrastinating at the office, looking for a last minute job to perform while all the others headed home.

It wasn't that he didn't love his family. He did. There were still instances that reminded him of why he had married Mary in the first place. And Ella, his pride and joy. He still marveled that he could have brought such a beautiful creature into the world. But try as he might to avoid it, he always seemed to find himself comparing this to what he had had…before.

Mary and he had come together through grief. It seemed like a lifetime ago, now. At the time, it had been an unexpected and intense unifier. They had clung to each other for comfort; that desperate need for another person who understood what it was like to have loved and lost had kept them together. But time passed and Mary recovered. Gawain did not. Whether or not either admitted it, grief and loss was not the ideal platform for a relationship. It was not the ideal platform for anything, but it was the story of Gawain's life. He thrived in grief.

The clock on the night table was ticking insistently. Each _tock_ seemed to be screaming at him, "Sleep while you can!" but he knew it was of no use. He knew he was lucky Kingsley had even given them this break, and they weren't likely to get another anytime soon, but there was no chance he would be able to take advantage of it. He found himself itching to get back to work. It was the only way he knew of to stop himself from all this incessant thinking. He glanced at the clock face for the millionth time in the past few hours and saw that he had forty-five minutes before he needed to be back at the Headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix. _This is hopeless._ He rolled out of bed and walked over to the window. Positioning himself on the sill, he stared out at the gardens below him, thinking, always thinking.

The morning sun was reflecting off the muddy ground, still wet from a sprinkling of rain the night before. Beyond the low rock wall around their garden, the Yorkshire moor stretched out, beautiful in its ugliness. Grey and barren and drab, the country may seem to most, but Gawain loved it all. He felt at home in the sober wildness of the land. Frequently, Mary wondered aloud what that said about his state of mind. She could not see the appeal. She set to work, attempting to cultivate their little garden, trying to overcome the power of the land by planting bulb after blub of large, brightly coloured flowers. But beyond the wall, the wild heather and foxglove and harebell dominated the eye, crushing the valiant opposition of Mary's hydrangeas and primroses. When they had first married, Mary had begged Gawain to move to a new house, but Gawain couldn't. Giving up this house would be like forgetting the life he had had before. Forgetting Katherine.

Gawain mentally shook himself. He couldn't keep doing this; there was so much work to be done. The war was over, but the reformation had just begun. In just the past few months, the Death Eaters had managed to decimate the entire infrastructure of the British Magical political system. So many Ministry workers had been involved in horrific acts, some in open support of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, some under the Imperius Curse, and some desperately trying to anything and everything to keep themselves and their families alive. The very thought of spending the next months trying to decide who was culpable, who to absolve, who to punish and how much, gave Gawain a headache. He didn't even want to think about the tasks of trying to obtain unbiased records of known Death Eaters, victims who had died, been imprisoned, were missing, trying to maintain cooperation with other suffering countries, trying to renew the devastated economy, public moral, faith in the government, Muggle relations…The list went on and on. It was going to be a long time before they had completely recovered. At the moment, many had doubts they ever would.

The end had come so suddenly. The day had been like any other. Gawain had gone to bed one night and woke up the next morning to find everything had changed. Everything was different. And who had instigated it all? A seventeen year old kid whom most had believed dead. Gawain didn't know what to think about Harry Potter. He'd certainly not expected to meet him last night, and the encounter had left his mind reeling a little too fast to form a fully fledged opinion.

Potter was one big, walking contradiction. The way he had spoken with Kingsley was as though they were great friends of old: chatty, freely teasing each other with no mind to causing offense. He seemed confident and loquacious. But there was an awkwardness to the boy as well. A timidity not immediately apparent. His tendency to ignore the others in the room, to avoid eye contact, scarcely acknowledging their existence, might to some appear rude, but Gawain suspected this was a mechanism to protect himself from the feeling of being goggled at as though he were an animal in a zoo. He seemed uncomfortable when Kingsley had introduced him to the small assembly of Ministry workers. Gawain would have thought that after years of people gaping at him, the boy would have gotten used to it and accepted it, but his eyes clearly tried to avoid looking at any of the company who were staring overtly with mouths open. He had not seemed to want to discuss his own well being or be thanked for saving their lives. Could this be modesty? That was a trait Gawain would not have expected to find in Harry Potter. The boy was a legend, famous since infancy. That was enough to give anyone a fat head. The media had never given Gawain cause to doubt it. But quite suddenly, it was occurring to Gawain that there was a great deal more to Potter than one read about in the papers.

~ * * * ~

Gawain let himself into the old house. He reached back to shut the door behind him, but before he did, he heard a crack and turned to see Ben had just Apparated onto the stoop. Gawain held the door open for him.

"Morning," Ben said with a yawn. "Or afternoon, or whatever it is."

Gawain nodded in response. "Where's Kingsley? Aren't you supposed to be guarding him?"

They made their way down the hall toward the kitchen. "He said it wasn't necessary to have two of us. Margaret is with him. I'll take over tonight."

Gawain grumbled under his breath. "He's going to get himself killed. The political climate is too unstable for him to be so lax right now. He's the Minister of Magic! Does he not realize how many people are going to want him dead?"

Ben shrugged. "This is Kingsley we're talking about. If anyone knows how to take care of himself, I suppose it's him."

They broke off the conversation as they entered the kitchen. Kingsley was already seated talking to Magaret Jenkyns in a low voice. Brannagh Roslyn and Edward Bones were exchanging pleasantries on the other side of the table. Guy Burgess was just shrugging off his jacket and settling himself into a chair which creaked in protest. He seemed lost in his own thoughts and was sucking on his own teeth, his brow furrowed.

Kingsley looked up as Gawain and Ben entered and took their seats. "Excellent. Everyone's here, we may as well get started. The sooner we get through the agenda, the sooner we can all head home." He shuffled a sheaf of parchment to the front of the pile and continued. "This morning we left off on French foreign policy—"

"Before we continue that, there is something else I would like to discuss."

Six pairs of surprised eyes turned toward Guy Burgess. Gawain frowned. Kingsley may be a new minister, but that was hardly an excuse to interrupt him midsentence. Did Burgess really have the gall to think himself so superior that he could determine the agenda? Burgess had been one of Fudge's favorites and it seemed his ego had failed to deflate alongside Fudge's political career.

After a moment of shocked silence, eye's sneaking over to Kingsley to see how he would handle the situation, Kingsley lowered his notes, taking the time to stack them neatly on top of the others, raised politely attentive eyes toward Burgess, and said softly in his usual calm voice, "And what would that be, Guy?"

"Harry Potter."

Immediately Kingsley went stiff, his posture defensive. "What about him?" His voice was soft, but there was an edge to it Gawain had never heard before, almost daring Burgess to say the wrong thing.

"Well," Burgess barreled on pompously, clearly oblivious to the change in Kingsley's tone, "we are in his house; you must have had some intentions when you brought us here. It seems as though he is privy to more of the Ministry doings than many who work there. Don't you think we deserve to know the particulars about Potters relationship with the Ministry and his role in these proceedings? These are dangerous times. We need to be careful who we trust." Gawain had the impression Burgess had spent most of his morning practicing this little speech.

Again Kingsley was silent for a moment before responding. "Are you suggesting," he said very slowly, "that _Harry Potter_," he stressed the name, "might be inclined to share information with the Death Eaters?" Kingsley tone was becoming dangerous. Gawain had rarely heard Kingsley come even close to losing his temper, but this seemed to be heading in that direction if Gawain didn't take a hint.

He didn't. "Perhaps not advertently, but perhaps if he were to take the wrong person into his confidences…"

"Harry has not survived these seventeen years by being careless concerning who he takes 'into his confidences.'"

"I'm merely saying that if we are all going to be working here with him, in the interest of national security, we should have some background information about—"

"What is this really about, Mr. Burgess?" The formal address spoke volumes. "Ensuring national security, or satisfying your curiosity about a person I happen to know likes to keep his private life…_private_."

Gawain had never heard this tone from Kingsley. His face was calm, but Gawain could tell he was furious and, if Gawain wasn't mistaken, _protective_. Just how well did Kingsley and the boy know each other? Gawain exchanged a look with Margaret. There was a crease between her eyebrows that seemed to him to be asking the same questions.

Burgess finally seemed to be catching on to the fact that he was on thin ice, but he blundered on nonetheless. "We can't just ignore the fact that the boy has a criminal record!"

"The only crimes he has ever committed have been in defense of his own life or of others." Kingsley's fists were balled by this point and his teeth ground together. "If there is one person I trust to always make the right decisions, it is Harry.

"'The right decisions?!' Have you been paying any attention to the trouble he's been getting himself into at school for the past seven years?" Burgess voice was getting louder with every word.

"We are hardly here to discuss a schoolboy's habit for mischief."

"What about that Patronus Charm he conjured in front of a Muggle a few years ago, then?!"

Potter chose this moment to sidle in the door, his arms full of groceries. He had a mildly puzzled look on his face as he caught Burgess's last few words. Neither Kingsley nor Burgess noticed Potter's entrance.

"He was cleared of all charges, as you well know, on account of the fact that he was in the middle of a battle for his soul!" Kingsley responded angrily.

Potter quickly seemed to comprehend the topic of the conversation. He stood in the door chewing on his lip, clearly deciding if he should announce his presence or leave the room. He glanced at the groceries in his arm, sighed, and shrugged. He made his way into the room, seeming quite unperturbed by the quarrel which was still in full swing. He made his way to the opposite end of the table from the arguing wizards, set down the bags on the table, and calmly began unpacking them.

The other occupants of the room were now looking uncomfortably between Potter and the still bickering Burgess and Kingsley. "Should we…er…stop them?" Ben asked Gawain quietly, shooting an embarrassed look at Potter.

"Oh, no, don't do that. It's about to get good. He's about to point out that I'm a Parselmouth." Potter was smiling softly as he continued to pull food out of the cloth grocery bags and sort it.

Sure enough mere seconds after Potter had said this, Burgess's voice was echoing off the walls as he shouted, "He's a _Parselmouth_ for the love of God!"

Potter raised his arms in mock triumph before moving to take a jug of milk over to the ice box. "Next comes the fact that I blew up my aunt."

"And that's not to mention all the offenses against the Restriction of Underage Sorcery, _and_ the International Confederation of Wizards' Statue of Secrecy! He. _Blew. Up. His. Aunt_!"

Potter chuckled quietly under his breath. Eyes were dazedly passing between Potter and Burgess. Edward Bones, sitting just to Potter's right finally asked bemusedly, "How are you doing that?"

"Friend of Fudge's, was he?" Potter asked, nodding his head in Burgess's direction.

"Yes," Bones responded slowly. "Fudge appointed him a few years ago when Barty Crouch disappeared."

"What a surprise," Potter responded sarcastically more to himself. "Well, Fudge could sue for royalties. This bloke's plagiarizing Fudge's favorite speech." By this point Potter had moved on to making himself a sandwich. He was adeptly slicing a cucumber when he asked, "Has Kingsley given you lot time to eat, or would anyone like some sandwiches?"

Ben, forever the bottomless pit replied enthusiastically in the affirmative, and Potter pulled out half a loaf of bread and began spreading each piece with cheese systematically. Most everyone's attention had now shifted to Potter and the debate between Kingsley and Burgess was quite tuned out. When Potter had assembled a dozen cucumber sandwiches and cut them into quarters, he casually walked around the table until he stood directly behind Kingsley and Burgess and half set, half dropped the plate of sandwiches onto the table between the two wizards with a crash. Both men jumped and looked around. Kingsley looked abashed and Burgess seemed to be unable to decide between mortified and furious. Gawain heard a distinct snort of laughter from Ben at his left.

"How…er...long have you been there?" Kingsley asked as though he truly did not wish to hear the answer.

"Oh, only about ten minutes or so," Potter replied casually. Kingsley winced.

Burgess heaved his girth off of the chair indignantly and, seeming to have decided to cover his embarrassment with an overinflated show of antagonism, he said "Since my input is clearly not going to have any effect here, I hardly see how my presence is necessary." And with that he huffed out, looking more like a petulant child than anything.

Potter still had a smile on his lips. "Sorry about that."

Kingsley sighed, "No you're not."

"You're right…not even a little bit." Potter grinned in a way that was too contagious for Kingsley to resist.

"Well, good riddance, I say. That man annoys the hell out of me," Ben muttered good-naturedly.

"Oh he'll be back." Potter said confidently, reaching over the table to take a sandwich off the plate.

"You don't even know him, how can you be so sure?" Kingsley asked.

"I don't need to know him to notice that he forgot his jacket." And with that, he grinned, took a large bite out of his sandwich, and made his way to the door, chewing contentedly. All eyes followed him as he passed Burgess's chair where a jacket was hanging forgotten.

~ * * * ~

A/N—Sorry it took me so long to update, but you would not believe how busy I've been. And now another blatant plea for reviews! I would really like to know what people think. A special thanks to _AP Mom_ for showing interest from the beginning and to _Prongslet_ for the shameless stroking of my ego.


	5. Awkward Silences

**A/N: **I am so so sorry for how long it took me to update. I am terribly ashamed. I've had so much on my plate lately and I have been focusing on my other story a bit more than this one since it seems to get more of a response. Anyway. Thank you to those of you who have taken to pestering me to update. Who knows when this would have gone up if it were not for you. This chapter I found very frustrating. I just couldn't get it to go the way I wanted it to. But I've decided to give up and just post it. Hopefully it still makes sense, anyway. I'm off to Sweden to visit my brother for a bit in a couple weeks, so you might not get an update for a little while. I will try to put up another chapter of _A Lonely Path_ before I leave though, for those of you who read that one too.

**Chapter 5: Awkward Silences**

**  
**The meeting passed much as it had the night before, though perhaps improved by the absence of Burgess's long-winded speeches. While no one was particularly sorry to see him go, Gawain couldn't help but to think that the process would be a great deal rockier if Burgess chose to resign. Building trust with the foreign governments was hard enough without constantly changing up the ambassador with whom they were dealing. Three Heads of the Department of Magical Cooperation in two years might be too much to handle with all the other things that had been happening.

For all the usual tediousness of the conference, it did at long last feel as though things had begun to advance. They had, at least, agreed on a plan of action for most of the areas they had been debating. Gawain felt that things seemed to resolve themselves much more quickly in Burgess's absence.

After several hours of discussion and planning, the committee was disbanded for a short time, each member with his or her own instructions and chores to complete. But a break was a break, and most of the company were more than glad of an excuse to get out of the dusty kitchen for a time. And so it was that upon Apparating back to the Ministry, the group ambled in their separate directions: Kingsley off to meet with the Wizengamot, followed by Ben who had the look of a puppy out for a walk with its master and Margaret who had her wand out, her one eye glaring at everything that moved; Brannagh Roslyn to the security desk in the Atrium to analyze what precautions were in place; Edward Bones up to his office where he was to receive a report about the goings on in Hogwarts. Gawain did not move from the Apparition Zone for a moment, merely choosing to watch them all go. He took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for the chaos that he was sure to find in the Auror office after his long absence.

~***~

A quarter to seven o'clock that evening found Gawain standing once again on the stoop outside Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The allotted three hours to complete their work was nearly at an end. In that time, Gawain had met with the other Aurors, heard report after report of the chaos spreading across the country, prioritised their responses, issued orders, signed off on more than a dozen case files, and shouted at more people than he cared to admit to; he felt as though he had just crammed a normal week's worth of work into just a couple of hours. And so, after shovelling an early supper into his mouth while poring over another case file, he had made his way back to the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, and was much surprised to find that he was actually relieved to be back.

The house was as dark as it had been the night before. He wondered if he was the first one back; he was a bit early, after all. When he reached the door to the kitchen, however, light was streaming out from the crack beneath and he heard rustling from the other side. He pushed the door open, expecting to see one of the other officials but instead he found Harry Potter standing at a cutting board slicing vegetables. At the creak of the door, Potter dropped the knife with a clank and his hand had drawn out his wand so quickly, Gawain thought he would have missed it if he'd blinked. The movement seemed much too well practiced for a boy his age.

Potter's eyes met his own and the boy's grip on his wand loosened. Very slowly and cautiously, Potter lowered his wand, but Gawain noted that he did not re-pocket it; instead he delicately set in on the table beside the cutting board where it was easily accessible and resumed the chopping of a carrot. Gawain found himself rather impressed by this.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," said Gawain in his low gruff voice.

Potter glanced up briefly, but the knife did not still in its rhythmic cutting. "You didn't." He picked up the cutting board, held it over a large pot and used the knife to scrape the pieces in before taking up a potato and resuming his slicing in a way that Gawain found rather menacing. "I had thought Kingsley had let you all go home for the evening. Working you lot a bit hard, isn't he?"

"Desperate times," Gawain responded. "We all knew what we were signing up for."

The boy's hands stilled for a moment and he looked at Gawain. Just looked, his face unreadable. Gawain found himself fighting the desire to squirm under the gaze like a boy who had just been caught by his mother after stealing biscuits. He abruptly realised how ridiculous he was being and wanted to kick himself in the shin. _He's just a kid. A perfectly normal seventeen year old kid. Who cares what he's done. You're a grown wizard. Act like one._ He forced himself to approach the table. He rested his hands on the back of a chair but did not sit down.

"You're Mr. Robards, aren't you? Head of the Auror office?" At Gawain's nod, "Interesting time to be an Auror. Stressful," he added with a humourless smile. "But interesting." For a moment, Gawain was surprised that Potter should have remembered his name after their brief introduction that morning. Then he remembered that Potter had reacted to the name as if he had heard it before.

"Yes, it is," Gawain replied to Potter's comment, his mind half on the conversation, half questioning Potter's response to his name that morning, internally debating with himself on whether he should simply ask. Perhaps he didn't want to know. Maybe Potter had heard about some kind of foul-up he had made in his past.

But the side of his brain which was in the conversation was failing him miserably. It could not for the life of him come up with something interesting to say to Potter. Gawain had never been much of a conversationalist, and he got the impression Potter wasn't particularly good at it either. Not the best combination. And so it was that as the silence began to stretch again, the part of his brain that wanted to confront Potter about his reaction teamed up with the part that simply wanted to fill the awkward silence.

"May I ask you a question?" Potter, who had gone back to his knife and potato, froze. He looked extremely apprehensive, and Gawain belatedly realised that was probably not the best way to open; Potter was probably expecting Gawain to start interrogating him about his defeat of He Who Must Not Be Named or some such. But when Potter looked at Gawain reluctantly inviting him to ask his question, Gawain barrelled on. "It's just. This morning, when Kings—when the Minister introduced us, you seemed to know my name, and I just...couldn't interpret your expression."

"Oh." Potter let out his breath looking immensely relieved. He visibly relaxed, and the knife resumed its repetitive strokes. "Nothing bad, I assure you," Potter said glancing at him with a slight smile. "It's a...complicated...story. I had just...heard your name from Scrimgeour. A while back."

Gawain frowned, trying to interpret this. While Rufus Scrimgeour had tried to keep it quiet to the general public in the interest of his political reputation, it was not exactly a secret in the Auror office that he and Potter had never exactly hit it off. Truth be told, when off the record, Gawain had heard Rufus flat out cursing the boy on more than one occasion. 'Pig-headed,' was his preferred adjective, though the nouns it described tended to be more...creative.

When Potter saw that Gawain clearly didn't understand and clearly had no intention of letting it go, Potter sighed and said, "On the first day we met, Scrimgeour...threatened...to introduce me to you."

'Threatened.' It was an odd choice of word and more than a little offensive. But then Gawain considered the double meaning in his comment. "He threatened to _arrest_ you?" he asked, incredulously.

Potter laughed. "No, no. Though I don't doubt he considered that option a time or two. He just...well...he wanted to give me a job. Under you."

Now Gawain was completely lost. He supposed it must has shown on his face because Potter laughed again and said, not without some bitterness, "I did tell you it was complicated." Potter sighed as he added the potato to the stew. "Scrimgeour and I had a very...tense...relationship. Our objectives didn't mesh very well. And I don't exactly have a reputation for playing nicely with the Ministry." Gawain suppressed a snort at that. "I think he thought that if I were to work at the Ministry, it would help ensure trust in his administration. That I would be offering my endorsement publically. And I was...something less than cooperative. It proved to be the foundation of a lot of bad feeling between us, and I..." Abruptly he looked at Gawain and frowned. "...and I have absolutely no idea why I'm telling you all this," he finished shaking his head and smiling.

Silence fell and Gawain realised that the forthcoming mood he had found Potter in had now come to an end. He searched his brain for something more to say, something to ask that might get him talking again, but nothing came to mind. There were plenty of questions: whether Potter knew the circumstances behind Rufus's death, that he had been tortured for Potter's location; precisely why Rufus had thought that the Auror office would be a good fit for him; what more was there left unsaid behind Potter's reluctance to work for the Ministry. None of these questions seemed entirely appropriate to ask in their first proper meeting. And so, again, the pause stretched to the point of unease.

Just as the silence was beginning to get painfully long, the door opened behind Gawain and Edward Bones strolled in. Like Gawain, he paused when he saw Potter. He looked between  
Gawain and the boy curiously for a moment before nodding at Potter with a soft, "Good evening." Potter replied with the same and Bones strolled over to the table, pulled out the chair he had occupied earlier that day, and seated himself to wait for the others, not looking at anything in particular. Gawain followed suit.

Edward Bones was a man of about forty. His thick auburn hair was just beginning to fleck with grey, his face just beginning to show the lines of decades of concern and weariness. He was one of those lucky few who seemed to grow more handsome with age. His was the kind face that seemed to tell a new story with each wrinkle. Now he sat silently, his hands intertwined and resting on the table top.

All that was heard in the room was the chopping of a stalk of celery. By the time Potter had added this to the pot and set it all on the stove to boil, the silence had long since passed the point where it could no longer be broken without awkwardness. Potter looked around for something else to occupy his hands while his dinner was cooking, but when nothing became apparent he glanced at his company, first at Gawain and then at Bones.

Clearing his throat uncomfortably in such a way as to remind Gawain that he was, after all, just a child and not at all at ease with polite conversation, Potter said to Bones "You're Susan's father, I believe?"

Bones looked at Potter with an expression that Gawain could not quite get a grasp of. It was almost accusatory. "Yes," he said after a pause.

"I saw you. At Hogwarts. At the battle," Potter said. This was news to Gawain. He had been under the impression that Kingsley had been the only one of their company to have actually been there.

"'After the battle' is more like," Bones corrected. "It would seem I missed the majority of it."

"Either way, I know I was not the only one who was relieved to see you arrive," Potter assured him. "Slughorn did a good thing. Going to collect all of you. It was more than I would have expected of him."

Bones did not reply to this. He was gazing at Potter with his jaw clenched, annoyed about something, though Gawain could not imagine what. Potter apparently understood however because he looked somewhat ashamed when he said, "Susan was well, I hope, when you left her? She wasn't injured?"

"Just a few cuts and bruises. Nothing life-threatening."

Potter flinched ever-so-slightly at Bones's curt voice and said, "I'm sorry she had to go through that. I never intended to have her fight...or anyone else."

"She should never have been there in the first place," Bones said softly. "Merlin knows enough people in my family have died for this cause.

There was another awkward pause before Potter said, just as softly, "I was very sorry to hear about your sister. I only met her once, but she was...good to me. At a time when very few people would have been."

Bones looked up at him, looking faintly taken aback. "Thank you," he said at last.

Gawain had never known Bones particularly well. He had always been a person of some interest in the magical community, but it was more because of the family he was connected to than for his own right. Not to say he was without merit. Like the rest of his family, he was a man of fierce intelligence, powerful magic, and strong morals. But unlike his two siblings, he had kept himself out of direct confrontation. He had watched his brother, Edgar, fight the good fight in the first war and he had seen where it had gotten him: murdered along with his wife and three sons. And Amelia had been one of the first casualties of the second war. Edward Bones may have known what was right and wrong, but that didn't mean that he was about to let the same happen to his wife and daughter. In that, Gawain saw a great deal of himself in the man.

After a lull, "May I ask, Mr. Potter: exactly how well do you know my daughter?" Bones asked contemplatively.

Potter looked grimly amused by this question. "Exactly as well as a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff of the same year know each other after six years of classes. We didn't properly meet until fifth year. But I like to think that we are friends."

"Must be some friend. That she would risk her life for you."

Potter looked him straight in the eyes. "You can't honestly think...that she did any of that for me."

"What else would she have done it for?" Bones had a strange expression on his face as he said this. He seemed torn somewhere between anger and sorrow and guilt and a true desperation to understand. He did not intend this to be a rhetorical question.

Potter looked at him pityingly. "For her aunt?" he said shrugging. "For her uncle and cousins? For you? You'd have to ask her." Gawain was beginning to think they had forgotten his presence in the room. He wasn't so sure he was meant to hear all this. It was starting to feel all together too private.

Guilt was beginning to win out on Bones's face. "This wasn't her fight. She's going to remember what she saw that night for the rest of her life. She's just a little girl."

"To you." Potter said it firmly. "She's just a little girl _to you_. You wouldn't be her father if you didn't look at her that way." Bones was staring at his entwined fingers on the table, a crease between his eyebrows deepening. "Have you ever seen Susan do a Reductor Cham, Mr. Bones? She can reduce a solid wall to sawdust. What about a Stunning Spell? An Impediment Jinx? Because I have. And believe me, Mr. Bones. If you saw her do that, you wouldn't be able to call her 'just a little girl'. She knows how to take care of herself if she has to."

Bones looked at Potter meditatively. He stared at him for some time, but he never seemed to come up with a response to that. Finally he nodded and went back to staring at his hands.

"It all turned out well in the end, I suppose. And you saved her life, in a way. Saved everyone's life. Wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes." Gawain perked up his ears at this. This was an interesting turn of the conversation, something he was much more curious about than Bones's musings about his teenage daughter. But then no one could help but be interested in a first-hand account of the defeat of He Who Must Not Be Named.

Potter, however, seemed determined to avoid sating anyone's curiosity. He grimaced at Bones's last comment and busied himself with stirring the pot simmering on the stove. Bones tried again. "Not sure I understood what was happening most of the time, mind," he prompted, pausing to give Potter an opportunity to answer. Potter didn't oblige.

The room fell again into awkward silence. Gawain looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock. The others should be here. No sooner had this thought crossed his mind than he heard the front door slam and Ben's voice floated down the hall toward them, chatting contentedly. Gawain sent a 'thank you' to the gods of bad conversationalists for saving him again.

Ben's voice grew louder as it approached and the kitchen door swung open to show Margaret, clearly scoping out the room for any imposters. Kingsley followed with Ben hard on his heels. Kingsley looked rather distracted, as though he were only listening to Ben with one ear. Ben however, didn't seem to mind. Gawain sometimes got the impression Ben just liked the sound of his own voice. Then again, Gawain was also rather jealous of Ben's complete lack reticence; he suspected these damned uncomfortable silences never happened to him.

Kingsley nodded in greeting to the room at large and, at a lull in Ben's banter, "Harry," he acknowledged. Harry nodded to him from his chair at the table and said in subtly mocking imitation, "Kingsley. You want to be a bit louder coming in? I'm sure Mrs. Black would love to have a chat with you if you wake her up."

"Blast. I forgot. Sorry," replied Kingsley, looking over his shoulder toward the hall.

"No harm done. It's just best if you all keep as quiet as possible when in the hall," Potter told the room at large.

"What? Is there someone else who lives here?" Ben asked curiously.

"Nah. Portrait of the former owner of this house. Not very fond of visitors." Potter offered no other explanation.

Kingsley smiled indulgently at Potter before glancing around the room. "Brannagh still not here?" he asked. Gawain and Bones both shook their heads.

Potter stood to stir his soup again as the new arrivals took seats at the table. Kingsley's eyes were on Potter's back as he spooned some to his mouth to taste. The boy grimaced and reached for the salt to season it. "I really do need to learn to cook better," he said more to himself. "It would have come in very useful the past few months."

As they waited for Roslyn's arrival, the members of the group began to converse quietly, some merely exchanging pleasantries and small talk, others business. Gawain did not take part. He rarely did in such situations like this. He preferred to simply sit back in his chair and watch and listen.

Just as Potter began ladling his stew into a bowl, Roslyn entered the room, out of breath and apologizing for her lateness.

"Excellent. We can get started then," Kingsley said.

"And that's my cue to leave," muttered Potter softly, tearing off a hunk from a loaf of bread and balancing it on his bowl.

He made toward the door, but Kingsley stopped him, saying "I'm hardly going to kick you out of your own kitchen, Harry. You are welcome to stay if you choose." Margaret and Gawain shot him sharp warning looks.

Potter raised his eyebrows. "As fun as that sounds..." he said, trailing off sardonically. He smiled at Kingsley and then continued to the door. "I'll be in the drawing room," he called over his shoulder at Kingsley before disappearing down the hall.

"Well," Kingsley continued "I know we would all much rather be at home having supper with our families right now, so let's try to move it along, shall we?"

~***~

The meetings were beginning to fall into routine. Kingsley would open, someone would give a report, notes would be taken, questions asked, plans made. At least this evening was relatively short. The next day they were to begin their own assignments and would not be meeting here. Gawain was filled with a mixture of relief at a break from this house and trepidation at which of the ten billion undesirable projects he would be assigned to.

Brannagh Roslyn had been dispatched to initiate the plans for the new security measures in the Ministry: there were to be a more intensive background checks for prospective employees as well as several current ones who were considered suspect; more severe screening for any visitors to the Ministry; more security personnel stationed on each floor. Also, as the only member of the committee already established in the Wizengamot, Roslyn was to begin setting up trials for known Death Eaters in custody and overseeing the collection of evidence against them. Suddenly, Gawain found that he really didn't envy her promotion to Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

There had been some questioning when she was first offered the position after the death of Amelia Bones. She had previously worked an administrative position in the Improper Use of Magic office, and many did not consider her qualified to take up one of the most high-ranking posts in the Ministry. The Head of Magical Law Enforcement also had a reputation for being something of a dirty job, and there were doubts that she would be able to cope. Traditionally, Heads in the department had arisen from the Auror office, the Wizengamot Administration staff, or, on occasion, high ranking officers in the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. At first, people had expressed surprise that Scrimgeour had not taken up the post, but then, with his subsequent appointment as Minister of Magic, all was explained.

Perhaps it was Roslyn's manner as opposed to her background that caused doubts. She was quiet, soft-spoken, polite by all accounts. But she lacked the aggressiveness most considered necessary, the strength of spirit, the willingness to fight for what was in the interests of the department. She was, frankly, unextraordinary. But she got her job done; nothing more and nothing less. Somehow, she managed to fly under the radar. Gawain realised that over the nearly two years that she had been his boss, he knew next to nothing about her on a personal level.

Gawain sighed in gratitude that he wasn't given the workload Roslyn had just been handed. He rather doubted that she would be resurfacing in the next year. He soon discovered, however, that he had been overly optimistic to think that it was any more than what Kingsley would assign to him.

Not long after Roslyn had been given her assignment, had the topic of Hogwarts been breached. The wizarding school was, from the reports, in a state of some chaos. Minerva McGonagall had stepped in as the Head Mistress and was doing a remarkable job at supervising the repairs to the castle, caring for the wounded or transporting the worse off to St. Mungo's. Despite this, however, it is not easy to maintain control over so much and so many people, even in the best of times. They were in desperate need of supplies and manpower. The security wards around the castle had weakened dramatically since the attack of He Who Must Not Be Named and his followers; much of the castle was in ruins; most of the people injured; bodies of Death Eaters and school children were still being unearthed. For all Gawian's many years in the Auror office, it sounded like one of his terrible nightmares. And so naturally it was Gawain who had been chosen to go to Hogwarts to aid in repairing the magical wards and ensuring security.

It could have been worse, he supposed. At least he wasn't alone. Edward Bones was assigned to supervise the reconstruction of the building and Kingsley was scheduled to meet with McGonagall and the Heads of Houses. They could suffer in good company.

Margaret was to be sent back to the Auror office to take charge and deal with anything that might arise in their absence. This left Ben to protect the Minister alone, something Margaret wasn't too happy about.

When the meeting was called to an end, Roslyn packed up her notes quietly and took her leave for the night. Ben who had been getting increasingly fidgety, jumped to his feet and ran for the door saying something about the toilet. This gave Margaret more fodder for her objections. She fell into a debate about the Minister's private protection with Edward Bones who was arguing that both he and Gawain would be with Kingsley for most of the time and that there were already other Aurors posted at Hogwarts; Kingsley would be safe enough. They did not seem to notice that the subject of their debate was currently slipping quietly from the room without guard.

Gawain shadowed Kingsley down the hall, internally berating him for walking away without protection. Kingsley glanced back at him, sighed in exasperation, but nodded in acceptance at the same time. They followed the hall past the front door, past a set of heavy curtains Gawain suspected covered a doorway, and up a short flight of stairs before Kingsley turned right through a door on the first landing. Gawain followed and looked around what appeared to be a spacious drawing room.

It was Gawain's first time viewing any part of the house other than the kitchen and the hallway to it. He was unsurprised to find the rest of the house was just as, if not more, dingy and depressing. The room was dimly lit from a few candles and the orange glow from the street lamps streaming through the large mullioned window. Potter was seated on a rather uncomfortable looking green divan on the other side of the room. He was sitting motionlessly staring at the wall opposite him, seemingly lost in thought. The bowl of stew was sitting on a wooden end table half-eaten and looking cold and forgotten.

Kingsley joined him on the sofa, letting out his breath in a sigh. Potter did nothing to acknowledge him, and the pair of them stared at the wall together in silence. Gawain hung back, leaning against the wall near the door to give them some semblance of privacy.

"Do you think I could just light it on fire?" Potter finally said into the silence. Gawain was completely at a loss until he noticed that affixed to the wall they were staring at was a large tapestry with what appeared to be a family tree.

"I think Sirius would have tried that already, don't you?" Kingsley replied with a small smile. Sirius? Was it Sirius _Black_ they were talking about? Gawain knew, of course, that Black's name had been posthumously cleared, but still...did this mean that Kingsley had been in contact with him while he had been on the run? Kingsley who had been in charge of conducting the search for the convict at the time?

"I expect he would have." Potter grinned in a way that seemed rather sad. There was quiet for a moment before he offered another suggestion. "Maybe I could just take out the whole wall? Combine this room with the one next to it? There must be some way to undo a Permanent Sticking Charm."

"I think that would rather defeat the object of making the spell _permanent_," Kingsley responded.

"Suppose so," Potter sighed.

They were silent for a time. Gawain was struck with envy for the fact that they seemed able to sit in silence without it feeling awkward.

After a bit, Kingsley spoke up. "Did you visit the Weasleys today?" At Potter's nod, he continued, "How are they fairing?"

Potter sighed. "In the way that a family who just lost a son fairs." Kingsley nodded at this.

"And Andromeda?"

"Much the same."

Now Gawain wondered if it was Andromeda Tonks they were speaking of. If that were the case, it would imply _Potter_ was consoling her on Tonks's death. It had been enough of a shock to discover that Kingsley had had some kind of relationship with Potter over the years, but Tonks as well? How many more of his Aurors were chummy with Potter behind his back?

"I'm glad she has Teddy. I don't know what she would do if she didn't have someone to care for."

"You've met Teddy then?" Kingsley asked.

A soft smile came to Potter's lips. "He's beautiful, Kingsley. He's got the look of both his mum and dad. And bright green hair at the moment," he added with a snigger. Kingsley smiled sadly.

"I worry for him, though," he continued, sobering abruptly. "I know what it's like to grow up without parents."

"It's different," Kingsley countered firmly. "He'll be alright. He's got his grandmother. And his old godfather," he added as an afterthought, nudging Potter in the ribs. Potter snorted. Gawain wondered who this child's godfather was and what joke he seemed to be missing. "Besides," Kingsley continued. "You didn't turn out _so_ bad." It was Potter's turn to elbow Kingsley, though he seemed somewhat less gentle in the act.

"What are you up to tomorrow?" Kingsley asked after a bit.

Potter looked at him for a moment before, "More of the same, I suppose. "Go help out at the Weasleys. Come back here and skulk. I'm becoming a world-class skulker, you know." After a short pause, "And I should head up to Hogwarts one of these days," he added as an afterthought. "They'll be needing help. And I have some...things...to take care off."

"That's what I was hoping you'd say," Kingsley said, finally, it seemed, getting to the reason he had come up here in the first place. "I'm heading to Hogwarts tomorrow with a few others. I thought you might join us."

Potter looked at him for a bit, staring through him much in the same way that he had with Gawain back in the kitchen. "Why?" he asked finally.

"Well, you said you wanted to go—"

"No. I mean why do you want me to go specifically with you?"

Kingsley was silent for a moment, looking at Harry as though trying to read behind his suddenly suspicious behaviour. "Listen Harry. There are still a lot of Death Eaters unaccounted for, possibly even still hiding out in the forest. I'd just feel more comfortable if you weren't always on your own. I just want someone around to watch your back."

Potter continued to look at him with eyes narrowed. "Wouldn't hurt your public image either, though, would it? Walking onto the battle sight with the Chosen One?"

Kingsley swore. "Damn it, Harry. Are you always this suspicious of everyone," he grumbled.

They were silent for a bit, this time it was not so comfortable as before.

Finally Potter sighed. "What time?" he asked.

Kingsley looked at him with a proud if rather surprised expression. "Ten o'clock?" he said it as a question and looked relieved when Potter nodded, returning to his contemplation of the tapestry opposite him.

They had been sitting in companionable silence for several minutes before Ben stumbled in, slightly out of breath and looking a little panicked. When he saw Kingsley was safe, he relaxed but then jumped when he caught a glimpse of Gawain against the wall beside him. Gawain gave him his best you're-in-trouble-but-we'll-talk-about-this-later look and Ben slumped against the door frame with a dejected sigh.

Ben glanced at Potter, followed his eyes to the tapestry, frowned, looked back at Potter, then to Kingsley, and finally to Gawain looking curious. When Gawain met his eyes with an authoritarian stare, he quickly dropped his gaze. Dropped it to a glass-fronted wooden cabinet against the wall which seemed to be filled with silver-framed old black and white photographs. He wandered nonchalantly over to it to analyze the pictures.

"Well, I suppose I should be getting out of here for the night," Kingsley finally said into the silence. "You," he enunciated the word by slapping Potter's knee, "should be getting some sleep. You look like you need it." Potter looked at him expressionlessly. "So we'll meet you here in the morning at—"

"Who are these people?" Ben's voice rang out into the room. All eyes turned to him. He was pointing at the photographs in the cabinet with some urgency, his eyes on Potter.

"The former owners of this house, I suppose. The Blacks," said Potter, getting to his feet and moving over to Ben. "Yes, that looks like Mrs. Black," Potter said picking up a picture of an imposing looking couple and two children. The older boy's face seemed to have been burned out. "That would be Sirius, I expect," said Potter gesturing toward the burn whole. "And that would make the younger boy Regulus."

"But this one," Ben asked urgently, holding out another picture. This one showed the same couple, somewhat older and a young man of about twenty. Gawain frowned, wondering what this was to Ben. He seemed exceedingly rattled.

Potter also had a crease between his brows as he studied Ben, but nonetheless he took up the picture and said, "I expect that's Regulus again," looking back at the former picture for comparison.

"Regulus?" Ben said, more to himself. Gawain really could not imagine why the man seemed to be fixating on this.

Potter seemed to share his thoughts. Frowning, he explained, "I inherited this house from Sirius Black who was my godfather. He received it after his mother died. Regulus was Sirius's younger brother. I don't know much about his family. Sirius had had a falling out with them when he was sixteen; he didn't talk about them much. They were big on the whole pure-blood mania." He nodded his head toward the family tree on the wall.

"So this Regulus, he's a Death Eater?" Ben asked taking back the picture and staring hard at it

Potter frowned as though unsure how to explain something. "He was...for a time..." he said slowly. "He died in the first war..."

"He's dead? Killed by Aurors?"Ben asked sharply.

"No. After a time, he decided to turn on the Death Eaters. I suppose, once he realised what they were really capable of, he thought better of it. He ended up giving his life in an attempt to help bring Voldemort down. He was...a good man...in the end."

"'A good man,'" Ben repeated in a whisper, staring hard at the photograph. He clutched it so tightly in his fists, Gawain thought the glass might break. What on earth was with him? His face was unreadable. Dozens of warring emotions seemed to be battling it out inside him.

"Was there a reason you're interested?" Potter asked, looking at Ben with some concern.

"No." Ben's voice was so soft, Gawain had to lean forward to hear him. "No reason." But he did not relinquish his grip or his gaze on the picture until the others had said their farewells and begun to trail out of the room to head home for the night.

Ben set the photograph down softly, almost reverently, and followed the others to the front door, lost in thought.

~***~

**A/N: **Okay. After writing this chapter, I got to thinking about the character of Ben Harrows, and I realised I very tragically had written myself into a corner with him. He is my favourite character in this story and one of the most complex characters I have ever written. His complexities, however, are such that it is impossible for Gawain to ever know them, and given that this story is written from Gawain's point of view, if he can't know them, neither can you. I have struggled with how I should introduce Ben to you (part of the reason I've been so slow to update), but I have found that all I can give you are tantalizing hints: his reaction to the photo of the Black family; the fact that he passes out when dementors are near him; that he stayed at the Ministry even after it fell. I want you to understand these things, not because it is particularly important to Gawain and the plot of _Knowing Where to Look_, but because it is important to me.

So…Here is the issue:

Ben, at first glance appears to be a highly open, out-going, fun-loving sort of individual who says what he thinks. He is all smiles and wit and charm and is loved by everyone who meets him. The truth of the matter is, however, in certain areas, Ben is quite the reverse from what people think. Early on, he discovered subconsciously or otherwise, that if he was loquacious and friendly, those around him received the impression that he had told them everything, and thus they did not bother to look deeper. If he talked about the insignificant enough, they forgot to ask about the significant. There are certain aspects of his life which he discusses with no one. He is, in reality, extremely private when it comes to these things.

For this reason, I realised that I was never going to find a way to fit his back-story into _Knowing Where to Look_, most particularly, because Gawain, his boss, is one of the last people Ben would ever open up to. However, my brain had invented such a detailed and, I think, beautiful story that explains why he is the way he is. I simply was not satisfied to leave it on the sidelines and let you guess; I wanted to share it all with you. For that reason, I have written out his story here. If you are not interested, you are not obligated to read it. It's rather long and not at all necessary for understanding _Knowing Where to Look_. Perhaps one day I will turn it into a short story of its own, but I think most would prefer I focused my energies on the two stories I've already been working on. I rather doubt that anyone would read it anyway.

And now, without further ado,

Ben Harrows's Back-Story:

Ben is, in the technical definition of the word, Muggle-born. He was never, however, ignorant of magic. His mother, Fiona, was the younger sister of a Muggle-born wizard, Eamon O'Callaghan. Growing up, Fiona and Eamon were very close and Eamon was very protective of his little sister. Fiona, therefore, heard all about the magical world and everything that happened at Hogwarts whenever her brother came home for the holidays.

Fiona left her family home just outside of Cork, Ireland to study creative art at the University of the West of England in Bristol when she was eighteen. There she met Jonathan Harrows who was studying civil engineering. They fell in love, married, and had Ben a few years later. Ben began displaying signs of magic at a young age, and Fiona immediately recognised it for what it was. Eamon, who had no family of his own, had settled down in Bristol to be near his sister and her family. Fiona promoted a strong connection between her son and her brother; knowing Ben would eventually enter the wizarding world, she wanted him to have someone to go to with any problems that she knew she and Jonathan wouldn't be able to help him with.

Meanwhile, the first war against Voldemort was underway. Eamon, who was very idealistic and considered himself to have less to lose than most, had taken it upon himself to do everything in his power to waylay the Death Eaters. When Ben was six years old, Eamon snuck into a Death Eater gathering place and stole some parchments detailing meeting times, locations, and certain members. As he made his escape, however, he was seen, and someone he worked with recognised him.

The Death Eaters had recently acquired a new recruit, a young boy, no more than seventeen years old. They decided that it would be a good and relatively simple test to send the boy to steal back these documents. And so it was that the young Death Eater waited until Eamon left his home and then broke in and began ransacking the place, searching everywhere he could think of for the papers.

Fiona, who had been passing nearby Eamon's flat at the time with her son in tow, had decided to stop in and say hello to her brother and see if he might be available to watch Ben while she did some shopping. After going up the stairs to Eamon's apartment and letting herself in, she followed the sounds of rummaging coming from the study. When the door opened, the young Death Eater, on high nerves, whipped around and let loose a Killing Curse without even looking to see who it was.

When he saw what he had done, he was mortified. He stood there and stared at the young woman he had just murdered in cold blood and her six-year-old son who was kneeling on the floor looking confused and in shock, still holding her hand. It was the first person Regulus Black had ever killed and it was the first in a line of occurrences that would eventually turn him to search for and give his life to destroy a horcrux. Regulus ran from the house, determined to tell the Death Eaters that the parchment wasn't in there, and Eamon later came home to find his sister dead on the floor and Ben still beside her, still holding her hand.

Jonathan Harrows did his best to raise his son after that. He loved Ben very much, but he was well beyond depressed after the death of his wife. He was detached and no longer seemed to be able to muster the energy to show his son how much he cared, something he knew Ben needed to see. He soon took to drinking and the problems became worse. After a few months, Jonathan realised he couldn't give his son what he needed, and he sent Ben to live with his Uncle Eamon.

Eamon was also crushed by the death of the sister he had loved so much, most in particular because he was convinced it was his fault. He took his responsibilities toward Ben very seriously, however. He was determined to raise and love him like a son and to do everything in his power to make it up to his sister. He immediately cut off his risky, anti-Death Eater life style, but quickly realised it was too late; he had already made a name for himself as being outspoken against Voldemort. He decided, therefore, to take Ben and go into hiding.

A year later, Voldemort was defeated by the Boy Who Lived and the political climate began to calm. Eamon and Ben emerged from hiding to discover that Jonathan Harrows had committed suicide a few months previous.

The years passed and Eamon did as he had promised and raised Ben as a son, supporting him through his years at Hogwarts and later through his Auror training. He even fudged the paperwork to make it appear that Ben was his biological son, something which ended up protecting him when the Death Eaters started purging the Ministry of Muggle-borns. A year and a half after Ben qualified as an Auror, Eamon O'Callaghan passed away from a heart attack. Ben mourned him like he would a father, but was grateful that he had lived long enough to see what Ben had become.

At the time of this story, Ben is now twenty-six years old, only having qualified to be an Auror five years previous, not long before Tonks. He has no political aspirations and is present in the current proceedings merely as a body guard, chosen because Kingsley had worked with him in the past, trusts him, and quite simply, likes him.

Using his connections as an Auror after he first qualified, Ben discretely strove to discover the identity of the Death Eater who was responsible for the deaths of his parents. The trauma-clouded memories of a six-year old boy, however, were not enough, and he never found out anything about it. Until the evening in the Black family home. I want you to understand the turmoil in his mind at learning that the man he had spent the past twenty years hating had, in fact, reformed and given his life to help defeat Voldemort.

In anticipation of some questions as to why he stayed at the Ministry even after it fell, I will say this: While very idealistic, he is also practical. He has no family and, while many friends, none who would risk their lives for him if he were to get on the wrong side of the Death Eaters. That is not to say he didn't find his own ways to fight back. Remember Yaxley's raining office in "Magic is Might" _DH_? That was all him.


End file.
